Page 225 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

Aidan is sitting at the table, his hand and the zipper on his jacket shooting up and down in rapid succession. When he sees his mother, he bolts out of his chair. “Dad’s home. He came home, Mom.”

He doesn’t seem pleased about it, necessarily, more like he’s confused by the whole thing and isn’t sure how to feel, and who could blame him?

She gives her son a smile so tight it looks like her face will crack. “This isn’t Dad’s home, silly. This is our home. He’s just dropping by for a visit.”

She’s trying to keep her tone light, but there’s a sharp edge to it that I hope Aidan doesn’t pick up on.

Dottie is standing next to the small kitchen table, holding a teapot I didn’t even know Mary had. Did Dottie bring it with her?

“It’s late, Glenn,” Mary says, her back ramrod stiff. “You should have called before coming over.”

He rises from the chair slowly, as though he’s a man of importance, and something about the way he does it reminds me of Lester Montague. I have to grit my teeth against the desire to kick him out on his sorry ass.

“Mary,” he says with an air of familiarity. “You’ve never been one to go out on the weekends. You’re a homebody. Why would I need to call and see if you were here first?” The insult is wrapped in condescension, and my hands fist at my sides.

“Dottie,” Mary says in a controlled voice, “would you be so kind as to take Aidan to his room and help him put on his pajamas?”

“Of course, dear.” She shoots Glenn a dark look, then hurries over to Aidan.

“I don’t want to go to bed yet,” Aidan says, his voice rising. “Dad just got here. I haven’t seen him in three hundred and fifty-two days.”

I feel a twinge of pain for him. He counted.

“Maybe you can see him after you put on your pajamas,” I say, trying to hide my anger. Aidan can already sense the tension in the air. I don’t need to add to his distress. “In fact, why don’t you wear that new pair Mrs. Rosa gave you last weekend?”

She gave him a pair of pajamas with dancing cartoon ankylosauruses. Aidan wasn’t sure he liked them at first—not because they’re cartoons but because they’re dancing with brontosauruses. “It’s impossible,” he said in outrage. “They were in two completely different ages.” (How can this kid be so fucking smart? I didn’t even know that at thirty-five.) But he decided to let that go, and now they’re his new favorite. I knew that Mary washed them this morning and set them out to help with the sting of us going out without him.

Aidan’s hand is flying on his zipper now, but he doesn’t hesitate and immediately walks toward me, his little body tense.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Glenn snaps at me, seemingly oblivious to Aidan’s distress. “You have no right to tellmykid what to do.”

“Glenn!” Mary cries out. “Language!”

“Saying fuck around him is the least of my concerns,” he says as Aidan reaches me and moves behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

As much as I want to lay this guy out, Aidan needs me, and Mary is more than capable of handling Glenn on her own. After the hell he’s put her and Aidan through, I think she wants that, maybe needs it. I take Aidan’s hand and lead him to his room, even as he looks back at the kitchen, hearing Glenn the Prick lecture Mary on exposing her son to “that criminal.”

When Aidan and I are in his room, I shut the door.

“Are you a criminal, Jace?” Aidan asks, his zipper still flying up and down.

I sit on the edge of his bed and look him in the eye. “When I was twenty years old, I took something that wasn’t mine and broke it on purpose. It was a very bad thing to do, and I went to jail for it. But I’m sorry for what I did, and I never,everhurt anyone. Just a car.”

He watches me with solemn eyes, and we can hear Mary and Glenn’s muffled shouting. He doesn’t say anything else, but I can tell he’s scared and close to a meltdown.

“Are you scared of me?” I ask, terrified to hear the answer. Still, I have to ask. If he’s scared of me, I’m the last person who should be in here with him.

He slowly shakes his head and whispers, “I didn’t feel right before you came back from dinner, but I feel better now. Even though they’renotusing inside voices.”

I draw in a shaky breath, light-headed with relief that he trusts me but also eager to make this right for him. “Do you want to skip the pajamas for now and just get in your cool-down tent?”

He nods, then climbs in and sits cross-legged. I grab his noise-cancelling headphones from his dresser drawer, then lay his small weighted blanket over his lap.

His zipper is still going, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to lose it, thank God.

I lean over and kiss his forehead. “I love you, buddy. I’m going to make this right.”

Then I get up and head to the kitchen, shutting his door behind me.

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